


sweet fantasy, sweeter reality

by ItsJina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsJina/pseuds/ItsJina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean shouldn't be doing this while thinking of Cas, but he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet fantasy, sweeter reality

**Author's Note:**

> From my Tumblr

This is bad. So so bad. But he can’t stop his own body’s needs and wants. Can’t stop his thoughts from heading down south whenever he sees Cas wet after a shower or in a suit or a v-neck t-shirt. He wants Cas really bad. But he can’t, not when wanting him entails so much more than just sex, when he wants that emotional connection they’re dancing around, when he wants to see Cas every morning when he wakes. He can’t.

Instead, after persuading the reluctant Kevin to go grocery shopping with Sam this time and making sure they’ve actually left, he runs to his room. But first, he peeks into Cas’s room to check on him. Cas is still lying on his bed with closed eyes. Still have only a towel around his waist. Still gleaming wet from his shower. A flash of thought— _straddling Cas and hands sliding across his chest and roaming up his neck to grab his hair_ —but he banishes the idea and jogs quietly back to his room. He enters and strips, barely hearing the click of the door as it closes.

He once overheard a guy talk about using a pillow. His hands are experts, but that pillow idea has been on his mind. He finishes stripping at last with one quick pull of his boxers and his hand automatically wraps around his half-hard dick. He staggers over to his bed and arches headlong with his breaths haggard and hot. The free hand roams his body ghostly, his body tingling. His eyes are shut tight; all he can think about is blue eyes watching intently and wet delectable lips and chin lifted with a smirk. Fuck, if Cas ever looks at him like that—

He grabs a pillow and folds it around his dick. Little grunts and gasps leave his mouth as he thrusts into the soft material. The friction quickly creates heat and the smothering hot pressure makes his dick swell, and he imagines another place, better, tighter, that he could fuck into, that could squeeze his dick, could swallow him whole.

Dean thrusts faster, harder, pounding into the pillow as his hand closes around it tighter. He bites his bottom lip to stop from calling out ‘ _Cas’_ , but that only made him think about Cas biting him everywhere, marking him, and he moans into the mattress. Surely, the memory foam bed will have an imprint of his face by the time he’s done. His other hand stays busy and rubs his sensitive nipples, drawing out a moan.

It’s good, it’s good enough, and if he doesn’t allow reality to catch up, it’s probably the closest thing he’ll ever get to feeling like he’s fucking Cas in his room.

His hand moves from his nipples to the the back of his thighs, pressing the skin as he drags his fingers up to his ass. He massages his asscheeks, blunt nails scraping across and there’s a dull pain that sends sparks of pleasure, making him spasm erratically, and his breath hitches, his voice breaking in mid-groan. He continues, imagining rough and calloused hands rubbing all over his ass and opening him.

His stomach braces, everything locks. It’s so close, so close, but it’s not enough to tip him over the edge and the magic words tumble off his mouth, “Cas, Cas.” Times before, he hadn’t dare or Cas would hear. But now, he begs in the privacy of his room, the pornographic sounds flooding his ears, and he thinks of that neck and collarbone that he was able to glimpse at when he had told Cas to unbutton just a little bit more, “Cas, hngh, Cas, oh fuck, Cas, yes, yes.” His nails digs harder into his ass again, sparks shooting up his system.

He’s so close and at this point he abandons the pillow to the side. He turns onto his back, spits on his hand and let it do the job, slicking up and down and thumbing the head. He moans, his body shuddering and rolling, and he wet his lips, panting, before sucking in air between clenched teeth. With his hand, he can imagine it as Cas’s. It’s so bad, so bad, with Cas nearby somewhere, but that thought only rocks him harder. One hand fondles his sac as the other hand continues to stroke and he just really really wants Cas to lick along his throbbing dick, right along this twitching vein.

His eyes are still shut tight and his dirty mouth can’t stop speaking, “Fuck, like that Cas, oh yeah, fuck, so good you’re so good, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, fuck,”— _bedframe slamming into the wall, bed springs creaking, Cas spread out before him, yes, fuck, Cas above him with that heated dark look, oh fuck, Cas either way moaning out his name, wrecked and low_ — “Cas, Cas—”

“Dean.”

His eyes snap open and  _holy shit why is Cas standing there_  but his hand can’t stop and he spills with a choked grunt and long groan even as flaming heat engulfs over him.

When clarity comes to him, he sees Cas still standing by the door, still as stone. He’s wearing a thin v-neck t-shirt with his towel still hanging around his hips. Fuck.

The heat still lingers on Dean and he awkwardly sits up before asking quietly, “How did you get in?”

“The door wasn’t locked,” Cas says simply and his voice is deliciously gravelly. “I heard noises. I was worried.” His eyes lower and stay. He gulps visibly and Dean remembers that he’s naked.

If he flushes with embarrassment any more, he might just turn into ashes. He grabs his second pillow and covers his dick, wiping his wet hand discreetly on the sheet. “Uh. Yeah. No worries. Nothing was going on.”

Cas looks at him now and there’s something different in the air, in Cas’s stance, in his expression. Cas flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and Dean tries not to whimper.

“Show’s over?” Dean says uncertainly because fuck, Cas is looking at him like that, so did Cas want him too? Fuck, is that a tent in his towel? Fuck, fuck,  _fuck._

Cas tilts his head but it isn’t the same confused one as it’s always been; it’s assessing, calculating, one eyebrow raised.

“Why were you calling my name, hmm?”

Oh fuck, Cas is walking closer, his hands touching his towel as if to unwrap, and Dean shivers with want and anticipation. “I—how long were you standing there?”

“A while.”

He gapes as Cas comes right to the edge of the bed and leans close. “You just…watched?”

“Yes.”

“Kinky son of a bitch,” Dean mumbles and their eyes never stray from each other. Cas tilts his head and is inches away when he whispers, with a god damn smirk, “Audience participation time?” His towel drops.

Oh fuck—“Fuck  _yes_.”


End file.
